


silenced (but not unheard)

by ratbandaid



Series: sylvix week 2020!! [3]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Canon Compliant, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, One Shot, Physical Abuse, Sibling Abuse, post A+ support but like......... academy setting ig??, temporary voice loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:15:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26398516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ratbandaid/pseuds/ratbandaid
Summary: “Well, what do we do about it?” Ingrid locks eyes with Sylvain. “While this would be better for his reputation and for the women on the monastery grounds, this is terrible!”Aw, do you miss my voice already, Ingrid?Sylvain instinctively moves his mouth to tease her, but he pauses when no sound comes out. Ingrid furrows her brows. Sylvain’s never known she could look so serious.“I’m not sure what I can do. Healing’s never had much of an effect on Silence spells.” Manuela props a hand on her hip. “We’ve always waited it out, as you do with the viral infections.” The pitying look returns. “I’m afraid there isn’t much I can do for you, Sylvain.”Sylvain’s heart sinks into the darkest, coldest depths of his body.-----Sylvix Week Day 3:Injuries/Healing| Protection | High Seas AUI'm late by a day, oops!
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Series: sylvix week 2020!! [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1932814
Comments: 12
Kudos: 104
Collections: Sylvix Week 2020 Fic Collection





	silenced (but not unheard)

**Author's Note:**

> ~~I think this counts as an injury or some sort???~~
> 
> I recently learned that the Silence spell does more than just stop your character from using magic--it also stops them from being able to use the Talk function during battle! I thought that was pretty neat so I wanted to try writing about it!

“When do you think he’ll be back to his old self again, Professor?”

Sylvain watches as Manuela cards a hand through her hair. She paces in the space between Sylvain’s cot and the Blue Lions, who are crowded just a few feet away from the cot. There’s a crease between her eyebrows, worry clearly written on her face.

From outside of the clinic, the softest hints of chatter—of laughter and the soft murmur of conversation and the sometimes the shuffling of bodies, from one place to another—can be heard, just barely drifting up towards the second floor from the bustling student life below. Meanwhile, it’s completely silent in the clinic, save for the clicks of Manuela’s heels against the hardwood floor as she paces.

The silence makes Sylvain uneasy. But it makes him want to laugh. He’s not sure if it’s his nerves or if it’s the fact that the Blue Lions look crammed together to be standing in front of his little cot—Dimitri and Dedue both have their broad shoulders pulled in, making them look sheepish and small for once. They kind of look like they’ve been called in for a punishment, with Ashe and Annette looking at the floor with fearful concern and with Mercedes shifting her weight from one leg to the other. Ingrid holds her head high, but anxiety settles in his expression.

And Felix… Well, he looks about the same. He looks upset, but not in the same way that the others are. He looks… kind of angry. But honestly, when doesn’t he look like that?

 _He still looks like a wet cat,_ he thinks, and the image of Felix as a small, harmless kitten, soaking wet and filled with enough fury to bring about the apocalypse, strikes something in him.

Sylvain lets out a small snort and laughs.

Sylvain rocks back a little, a smile on his face, but unease quickly settles to the pit of his stomach and drives his blood ice-cold when he realizes that he hasn’t made so much as one sound of joy. Instead, the sound he makes sounds terrible, like a he’s being strangled—a hoarse noise that sounds vaguely like chilling last breaths of a dying man, the death rattle.

His friends watch in alarm, as his body is wracked with near noiseless wheezes. Ingrid jolts forward, though Dimitri quickly holds out an arm to stop her from doing anything rash.

“Mercie, what’s he doing?” he hears Annette whisper, her eyes wide with shock.

“I’m not really sure, Annie. Maybe he’s in pain.” Mercedes’ eyebrows twist up in pity.

Upon hearing these terrible noises wrench themselves from Sylvain's throat, Manuela quits her pacing and rushes to his side to check over him again. Her cold fingers, imbued with white magic, dance against his throat, feeling several specific points. Sylvain inhales sharply at her frigid fingertips. She lets her hands hover over him, and magic pours out from her fingertips. He doesn't quite feel it tearing away at the curse blocking his voice, but he feels the relieving jolt of healing against his bruised ribs and the gashes on his torso and arms. When Sylvain lets out a sigh of relief, Manuela raises her hands to heal his head too, gently letting the waves of magic seep into his bruises and cuts. 

Normally, Sylvain wouldn't be so beat up, maybe ending a battle with a few sore muscles and a couple careless gashes, but this battle had been rough. It was like a string on unending bad luck. One bad event after another.

Enemies seemed to come out of nowhere and surround him, leaving him with nowhere to go. All of his comrades were too far behind to catch up to him and help out. Parts of his armor were starting to chip and break off from all the pressure, and the pointed tip of his lance snapped nearly clean off, hanging on by just a weak cut of tape and leaving him to depend on his magic as a Dark Knight.

Surprisingly, he'd been holding his own rather well. He and his horse were in-tune, dodging poorly-aimed arrows and slower spells as Sylvain shot his own magic right back and took in all of his vulnerary, taking in every single last drop until his friends could come help him. The Professor called out to him, telling him to come back, but Sylvain couldn't move past the wall of enemies before him.

But right as he was turning to attack the last few enemies, right as he'd bee cutting a path back to his comrades, he had been hit with a Silence spell hard enough to throw him off his horse. He'd hit his head pretty hard against the ground, hard enough to leave him winded and to hear a high-pitched ringing for a bit. Distantly, Annette screamed, a sound preferable to the unpleasant ringing in his ears.

As black spots began to dance in his vision, he heard the enemies around him give out guttural screams as they collapsed to the ground around him. And he felt his body roughly jolt, making hazy eye contact with Felix. His mouth moved— _Sylvain_! he seemed to be yelling, _Sylvain!—_ but Sylvain could hardly hear him.

And when Sylvain mouthed Felix's name back, a feeble attempt before he blacked out from his injuries, Felix couldn't hear his voice either. 

Apparently, Annette and Mercedes found Felix desperately trying to heal Sylvain for up to ten minutes on a hectic, dangerous battlefield, taking blows in between his attempts to bring Sylvain back to consciousness.

Maybe that's why Felix is mad at him.

He'll make it up to Felix later. Maybe he can use some of his allowance to buy Felix something nice, like a brand new sword that lets him channel his magic through it—anything to make Felix smile at him, to get rid of whatever hatred Felix is harboring for him right now. 

The thought that Felix is upset with him hurts more than the wounds gracing his body.

Manuela eventually pulls away with a click of the tongue and thrusts a glass of water into his hands before turning to face the Blue Lions. “And it's been how long since the battle?" she finally says.

The Blue Lions all shuffle a little, trying to catch one another's eyes.

"Half a day or so," Ashe says, his voice rising at the end with uncertainty. Annette and Mercedes nod.

"Half a day?!" Manuela repeats, looking shocked. "Silence spells only ever last an hour or so." She pauses thoughtfully. “Though that _were_ those few cases, where it lasted a full day.” Another pause. “And that one case that ended in permanent voice loss. But those are rather rare.”

 _Permanent voice loss?_ Sylvain gapes at her.

Gravity settles over everyone in the room at the thought that Sylvain’s voice could be gone forever. Sylvain can’t imagine never speaking again. He’s hardly able to stop himself from trying to speak now.

How would he irritate Ingrid? How would he keep up his reputation?

How would he ever tell Felix that he—

No, this isn't anything new. It’s not the first time he’s had this scare. He’s imagined that he would lose his voice again and again and again when he was little—to the hands of his older brother, his hands clenched tightly around his throat until his throat was properly damaged. He’s imagined that he would not longer speak or laugh or cry—because he would be six feet under, dead as a doornail. Silent as a cemetery.

 _I can stand to lose my voice,_ Sylvain thinks, _as_ _long as it's not because of_ him. And suddenly, he isn't so scared anymore.

“You said he’d been struck in the throat, yes?”

Annette nods fervently. “I was there! I saw it happen!”

Manuela hums. “Perhaps that could have exacerbated this. Or maybe he’s had damage to his throat already. Or maybe the mage who’d casted this spell was very powerful.” She shakes her head. “All in all, this is a rather strange case.” 

“Well, what do we do about it?” Ingrid locks eyes with Sylvain. “While this would be better for his reputation and for the women on the monastery grounds, this is terrible!”

 _Aw, do you miss my voice already, Ingrid?_ Sylvain instinctively moves his mouth to tease her, but he pauses when no sound comes out. It's going to take some getting used to.

Ingrid immediately furrows her brows, narrows her eyes. Sylvain never knew Ingrid could look even _more_ serious than she was before.

“I know that this is quite the situation, but I'm not sure what I can do. Healing’s never had much of an effect on Silence spells.” Manuela props a hand on her hip. “We’ve always waited it out, as you do with the viral infections.” She gives Sylvain a pitying look. "I’m afraid there isn’t much I can do for you, Sylvain.”

Sylvain’s heart sinks into the darkest, coldest depths of his body.

“But! I’m sure it shouldn’t last forever,” Manuela continues with a gentle pat to the shoulder. “I’m sure that as your other wounds heal, your voice will come back. Just don’t do anything too strenuous and, uh—and drink a lot of water!”

The uncertainty in her voice doesn’t make Sylvain feel any better.

Manuela leaves Sylvain to his friends and heads to her desk to write a report on Sylvain’s condition. Sylvain, careful around where his body is sore and wounded from their last battle, sits upright in the cot with the Blue Lions slowly edging closer and closer.

They don’t say a word. Sylvain isn’t expecting them to.

But he hates this silence. Sure, he’s been silenced, but that doesn’t mean his friends need to be too. Besides, he’s not completely incapable of expressing his thoughts. He’s got his body language—his facial expressions, the placement of his arms, the way he holds his head up and puffs out his chest and straightens his back.

And he’s also got an ace up his sleeve.

Sylvain sets his water down and smiles at them, one of his typical reassuring, almost cocky smiles. He points to his chest with his index finger and then holds his hand upright, spreads out his fingers, and pulls his thumb in towards his chest in small, back-and-forth motions.

 _I’m fine,_ he signs at them. He’s a little rusty since it’s been years since he’s signed, but he remembers this pretty well. It's the one of the signs he's had to use the most, after all. With this little gesture, he feels years of experience slowly trickling back into his memory.

For the most part, everyone seems to have been following what he was trying to convey until his second motion.

“You what?” Dimitri asks, cocking his head.

“Maybe he’s thirsty?” Ingrid mimics Sylvain’s motion. 

“But wouldn’t the motion be a little higher? Near his mouth?” Ashe asks, but he tries to hand Sylvain a glass of water anyway. Sylvain doesn't take it, lightly shaking his head.

Confusion settles in their gazes as Sylvain repeats the motion, a little slower, a little more deliberately.

 _I’m_ _fine,_ he insists.

It's a bit of a shot in the dark. There aren’t many people who understand sign language if they are capable of hearing and speaking. To his classmates, he may just look like he’s making gestures at them.

But Felix’s eyes widen a little, and recognition flashes in his eyes briefly.

“He’s signing,” Felix states, slowly. Quietly, as if he is in shock of what he’s seeing. “He says he’s fine.”

Excitement and relief that he isn’t entirely isolated and confined to his own thoughts rushes through his body like a drug. Leave it to Felix to be there for him. Back at home, on the battlefield, and here too. Sylvain admits, though, that he wasn’t really expecting Felix to be the one who would get what he was trying to say.

“You know sign language?” Annette asks incredulously. It seems to be aimed at Sylvain, but her shocked gaze is trained at Felix too.

Sylvain nods. _Learned when I was young,_ he signs, though it’s mostly aimed at Felix, the only person who seems to understand him right now. Well, in all honesty, Felix has always been one of the few to really understand him anyway.

 _So I can impress the girls,_ Sylvain adds, now freely signing at a comfortable speed. His signing is still a little stilted from being out of practice, but if he can’t remember a word—what the hell is the word 'multilingual' and 'appeal' in sign?—he can just substitute it with someone closer. _Knowing lots of languages can be hot. And I can talk to girls who can’t read lips or hear._

All eyes slowly but surely shift to Felix, who shoots Sylvain a withering look so biting that Sylvain can only think of brutal Faerghus winters and how they wipe out all sorts of life. “I’m not translating that,” he mutters coldly. Sylvain just smiles.

Ingrid sighs, rolling her eyes a little. “Leave it to Sylvain to say something questionable even without his voice.” Her irritation doesn’t linger long. Her eyes soften a little in relief. “Well, I’m glad you have some means of communicating.”

“Even if he couldn’t sign, he could’ve always written out his thoughts if he couldn’t sign!” Ashe suggests.

“I feel that it would be tedious to carry around paper and a pen at all times just to speak.” Dedue looks from Ashe to Sylvain and gives him a small smile, which Ashe mirrors easily. “Perhaps it is best that Sylvain signs instead. It seems more efficient.”

“Yeah!” Annette beams at Sylvain. “And maybe you and Felix can teach us how to sign too!” She looks over to Felix, expecting him to say something. Felix just stares back.

“Oh, that sounds lovely! I’ve always wanted to learn a new language.” Mercedes hums contentedly. “Maybe we can all learn sign language together!”

“This is very unexpected of you, Sylvain, but I, too, are glad that you are able to speak with us still.” Dimitri nods at him, a faint smile on his face too. “Let’s hope that your voice returns soon.”

And with that, the heavy tension seems to slowly chip away as excited chatter about the prospect of learning a new language _—_ a desperate diversion from Sylvain's very serious situation _—_ fills the room. All of the Blue Lions look quite optimistic, quite happy.

All Blue Lions except for one.

-

The Blue Lions hang around for maybe and hour or so, happy to fill the uncomfortable stillness and silence of the clinic with their chatter. Sylvain doesn't even need to speak to feel their support and their joy, to enjoy their presence. He's content to simply listen, though he'll try to jump in by signing at Felix from time to time.

Felix's eyes always carry a look in them when he translates for Sylvain. He looks hurt, somehow. 

_It's not that bad,_ Sylvain thinks. _Or are you upset because you miss my voice?_

But as they chat, his friends slowly excuse themselves for their own reasons. Dimitri leaves to speak with the Professor. Dedue naturally goes with him. Then maybe around ten minutes later, Ingrid leaves because one of her favorite meals are on the menu, and she refuses to miss out. And maybe a few minutes than that, Annette is studying with Lysithea in the library and wants to get there early to get a head start. And a few minutes after that Ashe excuses himself to go tend to his duties in the greenhouse.

The clinic starts to feel still and silent again. But at least he's not entirely alone. He's still with Mercedes and Felix.

"I'm not busy." Felix crosses his arms and takes a seat on the cot beside Sylvain's, facing him. 

_Training_? Sylvain signs at him. Felix clicks his tongue, but gives no answer otherwise.

"I don't have anywhere to be, but I will be here in the clinic helping out, so please reach out if you're hurting! I'd be more than happy to heal you, Sylvain." Her eyes glint with mischief. "And sticking around may just mean that I can learn to sign from you and Felix!" She chuckles. "But oh, Annie will be so jealous that I'm learning without her!"

But duty calls, and while Manuela is filing some sort of report for Sylvain's condition, two students stumble in, one supporting the other. An injury during training, it seems. It happens all too frequently at Garreg Mach. Mercedes smiles at Sylvain and excuses herself, heading over to help the student.

Leaving him with Felix.

It's quiet. Felix won't talk, but he won't leave either. This is usually when Sylvain steps in to break up the silence and the tension with a light joke or a meaningless anecdote, but he can't particularly do that.

No, that's a lie. He can. And he will.

 _F-E-L-I-X_ , Sylvain fingerspells.

"What?" 

But before Sylvain can think of anything to say, something catches Sylvain's attention. A pair of students walking by the clinic as speaking. Their carefree laughter and voices are carried down the hall. 

“Hey. D’ya hear? The Gautier heir lost his voice.”

Word travels fast in Garreg Mach, it seems. That can't be good for Sylvain.

Felix seems like he's listening too, a stern frown on his face.

“Must be the Goddess’ doing.”

"Well, good. I was getting real tired of hearing his stupid voice. All he ever does is talk about girls. Girls this, girls that. Can he be any more desperate?" 

The two students laugh.

"The thing is, I heard he can still talk. Apparently, he knows sign language.”

“What? No way. Why’d he learn that?”

“Why do you think? So he can flirt with deaf girls. That boy is shameless.”

Sylvain’s acutely aware that his reputation isn’t the best. He knows that his name’s been dragged through the mud and tied to heartbreak and disloyalty and all sorts of other rumors. It didn’t bother him before, but now, he feels oddly powerless against it.

It hurts even more knowing that it might be like this for the rest of his life. 

When Sylvain could speak, he could find people talking about him and walk by, say a few words to them and make them scramble to save face, and feel a little better at how they throw on sheepish smiles, looking as guilty as children who are caught sneaking cookies from the cookie jar.

But without his voice, he can’t really do that.

All he can do is wear that stupid smile he always does and pretend that everything’s okay, that the words flying around don’t strike him like arrows flying through the air, that he’s truly loving the attention he gets from this.

A scoff. "I bet you he got hit on purpose. Y'know, to get him closer to Manuela and the Blue Lions healer."

"Well, duh. It's like the only thing he's good at, getting into situations where he can flirt." This comment is followed by mocking laughter that slowly fades in the distance as the two gossiping students walk farther and farther away from the clinic, their voices growing small as they move onto some other mundane topic.

Sylvain turns his gaze to Felix. He's shocked to find Felix glaring at the door quite ferocious, clenching and unclenching a fist. 

_Is he angry on my_ behalf? Sylvain wonders, but the answer is quite clear.

Sylvain smiles a little and sits up in his bed at the clinic, deliberately shuffling the sheets so that Felix hears it. Sure enough, Felix turns his head to face Sylvain.

 _It's fine, Fe. They're just jealous,_ he says to Felix. _I get to get pampered by nice girls all day, and they don't._

The look Felix gives him is sharp enough to cut him. "Shut up." Felix sighs. "They're not jealous. They're just stupid. Morons who just talk shit with nothing to back it up." Felix flicks one, last glare at the door before looking back at Sylvain. "And don't lie to me. You're not fine."

Sylvain raises an eyebrow.

"Sylvain. You're worried." A pause. "Upset," he adds tentatively.

Sylvain shakes his head. _I'm okay._

"Liar."

Sylvain shakes his head again. Is he so easy to read? 

Felix crosses his arms. "You really think you can spend over a decade with me and expect me to fall for that?" Felix shakes his head. 

Sylvain just smiles a little. _You have a point._ He thinks over what he wants to say. Hundreds of thoughts are buzzing around in his head—about the battle and his shortcomings, about spell and his voice, about the people around him and their perception of him, about Felix—but he isn't sure where to start. All he knows is that whatever he says, Felix will hear him out.

"So? What is it?" 

Sylvain lets his gaze wander from Felix's intense copper-colored eyes to the little strands of dark hair that frame his face to the top popped collar of his academy uniform. His mind wanders to the last battle and how Felix protected his unconscious body despite the danger. And farther back than that.

To when Felix was younger. To when Felix learned to sign.

Sylvain had learned to sign after Miklan had wrapped his large hands tightly around Sylvain's throat as he slept. Sylvain jolted awake and screamed as much as he could with his airflow so restricted, which led his parents and a few house-servants to come in and help him. But the next morning, Sylvain's voice had been hoarse and quiet and talking hurt. It had been a scare, especially for the his parents, who were so scared to lose their "perfect" and Crest-bearing son. After that, he'd picked up signing, both from his own fear of losing his voice and from slight pressure from his parents.

Felix learned to sign to talk with him.

"You can teach me, and we can have our own little language!" Felix had excitedly explained, a happy glint to his eyes. "If we go to one of those noble parties and we don't like it, we can talk about it and stuff with it!"

Sylvain hadn't the heart to tell young Felix that sign language was already used by many throughout Fodlan, not just them. But Sylvain complied and taught him what he knew, reading over the books of sign language with him and practicing with him. And if Miklan ever left Sylvain without his voice, Sylvain always felt that he could turn to Felix to understand him.

"Sylvain."

Right. He's in the middle of a conversation. He hadn't meant to get lost in his sentimentality or his thoughts or his love for Felix, but it kind of happened. Now to turn his attention back to Felix.

(Though, it was already there, wasn't it?)

Sylvain blinks. _Sorry._ He pauses. He signs out Felix's name again and then smiles.

"What?"

This is a bit of a bold move. But the more Sylvain thinks about Felix—about the battle, about his healing, about the signing and his kindness and his genuine concern and care for his friends—the more he feels it's right. 

Besides, Sylvain is kind of a coward. These are words he can't say out loud. If he signs them, maybe he'll feel just a little more courage.

And hey, if this fails, maybe Sylvain can blame his wounds and the numbing agent Manuela applied to them earlier for his delirious thoughts and actions.

His heart eagerly thumps in his chest at the thought of what he's going to do, and the room feels so much hotter and smaller than before.

Sylvain holds up his thumb, his index finger, and his pinky, a slight flush climbing onto his cheeks as he smiles at Felix.

_I love you._

Felix stares at him, wide-eyed. And for a second, Sylvain thinks that he's made a grave error. Why won't Felix say anything? Why's he just staring like that? Is he mad? Is he upset with Sylvain? He's about to hit Felix with a quick, _Gotcha! Just kidding!_

Felix just clicks his tongue, his own face turning red too. "Why'd you say that now? Say it to me when your voice comes back." But he sits on the side of Sylvain's bed and leans against Sylvain's shoulder a little with an exasperated huff. He looks over at Sylvain and mimics the motion, holding out his own sign for _I love you_.

Sylvain smiles and slings an arm over Felix's shoulder, pulling him closer. It hurts his wounds a little, but it's worth it, especially when Felix doesn't protest.

"You're a reckless bastard. I'm so lucky I got to you before anything bad happened. But if you _ever_ do something as stupid as that on the battlefield again, I swear to the Goddess, I'll kill you." Felix sighs. "And then myself."

Sylvain laughs. And instead of his wheezes from before, it's a silent, throaty laugh. A husky, hoarse sound, but still distinctly a laugh.

Felix turns to look at him, shocked. "Sylvain, your voice..."

Sylvain grins. "Guess the spell's wearing off now," he says, though it's still a little hard to speak and his voice is rough. 

Felix hums. "Guess it is."

"So. You wanted to hear me say it, right? With my voice?"

Felix's face flushes. "Shut up."

"Love you," Sylvain says anyway, leaning in towards Felix's face, and Felix sighs.

"Love you," he repeats quietly before pressing his lips against Sylvain's.

**Author's Note:**

> I kind of rushed the ending bc I'm doing Real Life things orz hope it reads ok! tbh i might come back and rewrite this after sylvix week sjdkfk
> 
> Also I really hope I didn't come off as ableist ;; If any of my wording sounds condescending or ableist, please let me know! I'll be more than happy to take this fic down if it causes any offense or harm! I don't think I really know much about signing to make a fic, but I've always thought it was really cool and wanted to write a little thing for it orz


End file.
